The ludicrous idea of marriage, Johnlock
by They Call Me Mrs. Holmes
Summary: John has been thinking lately... about marriage. Sherlock has been thinking lately... about his work. Sherlock believes marriage is such a ludicrous idea, what about John?
1. Chapter 1

The busy London streets were flocked with hundreds of shoppers, shoplifters and tourists. They scattered about the streets, eagerly attempting to dodge the rain and the howling wind. A woman unleashed her umbrella into the sky, in a futile attempt to shield herself from the large droplets; however the wind was too strong and her umbrella was turned inside out.

A blonde haired man, in a large jacket and a thick jumper, jogged to the front door of 221B Baker Street. He opened the door with his key, and stepped in, shaking the rain drops from his hair, _there's no point in using umbrellas in this weather_, he thought. He carried a small shopping bag with him, filled with goods that he knew he would have to replace within two days. He bounded up the stairs and opened the door to his shared flat, which currently seemed to have transformed into a laboratory.

The chairs were pushed against the sofa, clearing space for the large table in the centre of the room. The table was covered with a mixture of items used in experiments. On the end, two jars stood open, one filled with eyes and the other with livers. Next to them, a mass of petri dishes lay, most of them dirty and caked in some sort of thick red liquid. Large glass vials and bowls were connected to tubes, where an orange liquid ran smoothly in between each piece of glassware. The last vial was emitting some sort of thin smoke, which rose and evaporated into the air. A wooden chopping board, covered in blood, lay next to a scalpel wedged into a crusty piece of bread. In the middle of the table, was a microscope, constantly focussing onto different slides. Behind the microscope, sat a tall and lean man, engrossed into the experiment.

His ebony curls bounced on top of his head as he rushed around the table. His eyes whizzed about the room, searching for his next tool he would use. His long, slender hands grasped two eyes from the jar and plonked them onto the chopping board, thankfully he wore gloves. His tight purple shirt remained spotless, despite the mess on the table that surely would've stained anything. His face was soft and young, his prominent cheek bones and his ebony curls were one of the many things that the doctor found attractive in the man.

"Sherlock, I've got the milk." The doctor's voice was soft yet loud, and commanded immediate attention.

"Good, I'll have a tea, please," the man replied. His deep voice was smooth like silk.

The blonde doctor walked into the kitchen and put the bag onto the counter. "Sherlock, can you tidy your stuff up please? I'd like to sit down."

The tall man, Sherlock, looked at the man in the kitchen, "It's not stuff, John. It's an experiment."

"Sherlock put your crap away I want to sit down," John commanded. Sherlock huffed and began to tidy away his equipment, and by tidy, that meant that he stacked everything up and moved the table into the corner of the room, and placed the chairs back where they belonged. This whole process happened whilst John made tea for the two men, and also packed away the other goods he bought at the shop. John carried over the tea and passed one to his partner, who had de-gloved, before sitting down into his seat. He looked at the table in the corner, "What were you doing?"

"Blood analysis, DNA testing, dissecting, eating."

"The bread, you were eating the bread?"

"No, I was dissecting the bread and eating the eyeballs," he replied sarcastically.

"Sherlock you can't eat stale bread, if you're going to eat something then eat from the kitchen, preferably food that's not gone-off!"

"Whatever, it was all for the case in Scotland, about the marriage to three people."

At the word 'marriage' John gulped and shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock didn't spot this, and John was glad he didn't. "Marriage, huh?"

"Yes, John. Marriage. The ridiculous ceremony that our secular society has devalued the meaning of it, not that I agree with marriage anyway. In my opinion, it is a waste of money, and human time that could be spent on other things. Such as work. Marriage is ridiculous."

John gulped again, fearing his next question. "So you don't want to ever get married?"

The detective looked pugnaciously at his companion, "No, John. 60% of marriages end in death, whilst the other 40% ends in divorce. On average, they only last for 11.5 years, and there were only 7,037 civil partnerships in the U.K in 2012. Does this not prove that marriage is losing its value?"

"How do you know all that?" John asked, disheartened.

"It's my job to know," he said simply.

"Oh, whatever," he said and put his empty mug in the kitchen. Sherlock frowned at his partner's reaction, but discarded it and moved on. "What did you buy at the shop? I'm hungry."

_For once_, John thought.

Sherlock leapt off the chair and threw open the fridge door. "Where's the food? Are we having a take-away?"

John sighed at Sherlock's child-like behaviour, "No, we're going out, to a restaurant."

"Why?" Sherlock closed his eyes to think, "It isn't anyone's birthdays, and no one has died. There is no reason to eat at a restaurant."

"Sherlock I told you last week, my friends just got engaged and we're going to dress nice, have a nice meal, at a nice restaurant, and be….nice."

"Nice? Nice? Why do we have to go somewhere _nice_?" John sighed. "Uch, the more I say the word the worst it sounds," Sherlock muttered. "_Nice."_

"Yes Sherlock! Nice!" Sherlock flinched at John's outburst. "Somewhere nice! We are going to congratulate my friends on their engagement, you will wear a suit and we will smile, because that's what happy couples do!"

"You're not happy?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John turned his back on him to wash his mug; the sound of the running tap filled the silence for a while, before John replied. "I didn't say that."

"It was implied, "that's what happy couples do"… meaning you aren't happy and have to tell me what happy couples do because we aren't one."

"…..No….it's, I'm sorry. It's been a long day. I got into a fight with a cash machine." John made a futile attempt of a joke.

Sherlock smiled and kissed John slightly on his lips, "That was clever."

"Yes, it turns out the cash machine was out of order…"

"Very clever," Sherlock kissed John on his lips before walking off to lie on the sofa, his eyes closed and as he delved into his Mind Palace.

John's phone binged as he received a text, from Mycroft.

**Sherlock won't marry you, it's not personal. He just isn't the marrying type.**

**Don't waste your breath, he doesn't even realise what your little outburst was about.**

**-Mycroft.**

John speedily typed back a reply.

**Don't you have some politics or something to do? Stop eavesdropping and get a hobby.**

_Sometimes Mycroft can be a pain in the arse_, thought John. He didn't expect a reply and he didn't receive one.


	2. Chapter 2

"John, what are you doing?" asked a dreary-eyed Sherlock. His head poked up from beneath the duvet and he looked around the room in search for his boyfriend. "John?"

John was stood next to the window, where he had just drawn back the curtains and opened the window. He laughed at Sherlock, who was unable to comprehend the change in light. "I'm opening a window, Sherlock. It's really musty in here."

Shut the window and draw the curtains, John. It's how I like the room, please."

John sighed and obeyed his partner, before lying back on top of the duvet. "It's eight o'clock Sherlock, you need to get up."

"Why? We don't have a case, there hasn't been a case in days. I might as well stay in here forever, no one would care."

"You are such a drama queen, Sherlock Holmes."

"I am not," he whined. He pulled the duvet cover back over his head in a strop. John laughed and settled under the duvet as well, pulling it over his head and staring at his partner. They both giggled at their duvet-den like children.

John rubbed his aching cheeks from smiling so much. "So you're going to remain in bed all day?"

"No, we both are," corrected Sherlock.

"I have a job to get to."

"Ah, jobs. So boring, so useless."

"It pays the rent."

"Forget it, call in sick, stay here," begged Sherlock.

"What do you usually do when I'm gone?" asked John.

"I wait for you to get back," joked Sherlock. "No, I usually conduct some experiments, talk to Mrs. Hudson, talk to my skull, compose some music."

"Really? Play me something.

"Excuse me?"

"Stop looking shocked, Sherlock. I said play me something, something you've composed."

"Really? You've never asked me to play you something before…."

"It's not a big deal, you've played in front of me before, but that was with other people too. I just wanted to see what you've done."

"Okay," said Sherlock. He ripped the duvet off from the pair and bound out of the room and down the hall, John gasped at the brutality of the cold flat, and found a cardigan to chuck on before heading into the room.

"What the hell happened to staying in bed?"

"You said you wanted to hear me play something."

"I meant later! I thought we were relaxing this morning."

"Why? Go call the surgery and say you're ill, or that your leg is acting up, whatever."

John shook his head and picked up the phone, dialling the number for the surgery. "Hi, Lorene? I'm sorry but I won't be able to come in today, my leg's acting up and I don't think I'll be able to last the whole day." John cringed at the poor quality of his lie, being a doctor he would be sitting down all day, but Lorene was new and didn't want to contradict her new boss, so accepted the lie and hung up.

John turned back to Sherlock, to find him clutching pieces of paper in both hands. He spun on the spot, his head twitching side to side looking for the specific piece he had composed.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" asked an amused John.

"I'm looking for a certain composition. I don't want to play you just anything."

"I'm sure whatever you play will be lovely," John attempted.

Sherlock yelled "aha!" as he discovered the music he had been searching for. He placed it onto the stand and picked up his violin and the bow, where in sat pride of place on the sofa. He shuffled through the papers to check all was in order, before turning to face the window. He always played like this, looking out onto the streets outside.

John settled himself onto his chair, waiting for Sherlock to begin. The man coughed, before placing the violin on his shoulder and beginning.

What Sherlock played, was hard to describe for John. It started off soft and quiet, a delicate tune that slowly grew into a more passionate piece. It wasn't up-beat, but rather a slow and gentle piece designed for a waltz. It was a symphony to his ears, something he had never heard before. A 'work of art', as John had later described it to Lestrade. John sat in the chair and marvelled at the talent his partner possessed, truly appreciating Sherlock's gift. It was the most beautiful tune John had ever heard, and in his opinion, it ended too soon.

Sherlock lowered the violin and turned to face John, who was sat with his eyes closed. At first he thought he was sleeping, but it then transpired that he wasn't sleeping at all, but rather enjoying the moment instead. John opened his eyes and beamed up at Sherlock, the biggest smile that Sherlock had seen John wear in a long time. "That... was… amazing."

"Really?"

"Definitely, no question about it," John confirmed.

"Really? Because I think during the second…"

"Sherlock," John cut off. "Sherlock listen to me, it was perfect. I absolutely loved it."

"Thank you, John," Sherlock blushed.

"Play another one please."

Sherlock chose another few pages and placed them onto his stand; he picked up his violin and returned it onto his shoulder. It fitted exactly, a perfect match to its owner. Sherlock was his true self when he was playing the violin; he stood a little straighter and smiled a little brighter.

He began his next piece and John settled back into the chair.

**A very short chapter sorry, I did this very quickly :) **


	3. Chapter 3

"Mycroft, you can't just saunter in here like you own the bloody place!" John said. He had just got out of bed and entered the living room to find a book to read when he saw Mycroft walk into the living room and sit down. "And get out of my chair!"

Mycroft lifted his gaze from the musical composition he had picked up from the floor and smiled at John, "Oh hello. Is my brother awake yet?"

John scowled at him, sitting down in Sherlock's chair, "He's in bed. Why?"

Mycroft placed the music sheets back onto the floor and crossed his legs, "It is a delicate matter, I hope you understand. One that requires the likes of Sherlock Holmes."

"Who needs me, Mycroft?" Sherlock yawned. He padded down the hallway wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet. John smiled at the pleasant sight, whereas Mycroft scowled in disgust. Sherlock stared at John for sitting in his seat, "Mycroft get out of John's chair. I need to sit down."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but obliged, choosing to stand by the fireplace resting against his umbrella. Today he wore a navy suit, and a matching tie which he flattened with his hands. John smiled and sat in his seat, whilst Sherlock slid over and claimed his.

"I have to go to work soon, anyway. I can't take another day off," John said whilst looking at Sherlock.

"And I need you to pick up a few things from the shop, please," Sherlock asked as he smiled.

John rolled his eyes, "Why can't you get them? You never do the bloody shopping!"

"I've made a list, it's on the counter," Sherlock ignored John's annoyance.

"Well I'll have to go now then, I'm not going on the way home from work, it's too busy. I'll have to drop them off before I go to work," John sighed looking at his watch.

"Go, I'll tell you later what Mycroft told me," Sherlock winked at John. The man nodded and stood up, kissing his partner on his forehead and heading down the hall to get dressed. Mycroft chose to remain standing by the fireplace, watching John retire to his, their, bedroom.

Sherlock rearranged his sheet so he could cross his legs and looked up at his brother, "What is it then, Mycroft? Who needs me this time?"

Mycroft coughed shortly and proceeded to talk in a hushed tone, "It is a matter I would feel more comfortable discussing once John has left."

The detective scowled, "Why? You know that anything you tell me, I will tell John."

The man smiled slyly, "You won't be telling him what I have to say." Sherlock was about to quickly snap with a sarcastic comment when Mycroft changed the subject, "Where is Mrs Hudson? I would very much like a cup of tea."

"You know where the kitchen is, make it yourself," Sherlock snapped.

"Says the man who refuses to buy his own groceries," Mycroft sneered.

"Speaking of food, is the diet going well?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow cockily.

His brother inhaled sharply, "Perfectly fine, thank you. Are you still not smoking?"

John walked back down the hall, "Alright! Break it up, can the two of you at least be civil towards each other?"

The two Holmes brothers smiled at John, "Of course." Sherlock nodded towards the counter, "Shopping list."

John picked it up and quickly glanced over what Sherlock wanted, "I am not buying lamb's eyeballs. Where would I even get those? Tesco doesn't sell them!"

"The butcher on St James Street, he owes me a favour. Tell him I want them, he should sell them."

"No."

"Fine."

John walked over and kissed Sherlock softly, "I'll see you in about a half hour then."

"Bye," Sherlock kissed him back.

"See ya, Mycroft," John said to the eldest Holmes brother.

"Good day, John."

John nodded and left the flat, leaving the two brothers alone.

Sherlock snapped his head back to Mycroft as soon as he heard the front door shut, "What is it you want to tell me?"

"It is concerning your personal life," Mycroft began.

Sherlock scoffed, "Since when did you care about my personal life?"

"You know I am concerned for you, and your wellbeing. Which is why a certain subject has been brought to my attention." Mycroft sat back down in John's chair again, realising that this conversation could take a while.

"Go on."

"Do you know what your fight with John was about, the one that happened several days ago?"

Sherlock visibly stiffened, "Cameras. I want those disabled."

"Now we both know that's not going to happen, but yes you are right. I overheard your argument with John."

"You 'overhead' a private matter between John and I, using the cameras you had installed in the flat," Sherlock spat.

"That is not why I am here, Sherlock. Do you know what the argument was about?"

"It wasn't an argument, John was just tired from his long day and vented his anger at me," Sherlock said almost-certainly.

"That is what you think. I'm surprised you haven't noticed the signs. Unlike the two of us, John wishes to be married, Sherlock," Mycroft smiled at the revelation.

Sherlock frowned, "Why would you think he would want to be married?"

"You don't need me to tell you, Sherlock. Surely you have recognised how John reacts to the subject. My reason I am here though, is this- I fear that unless you discuss the topic with John, your relationship may end. And you and I both know that you may result in a relapse, or worse."

"You think that John will end our relationship because I don't want to become married, and that I would end up relapsing?" Sherlock said slowly.

"Yes. I suggest you discuss the matter with John, Sherlock. Now if you excuse me, I have to be on my way." Mycroft stood up and left the room, he didn't glance back to see Sherlock staring in disbelief at the chair he had once occupied.


	4. Chapter 4

John burst through the door, clutching multiple shopping bags in his hands. He shuffled across the living room and dumped them onto kitchen floor. "Thanks for the help, Sherlock" he called out sarcastically. John walked back into the living room where he saw Sherlock sat in his chair, holding a cigarette. Sherlock hadn't moved since John had left, only to get changed into a suit and find a cigarette. John collapsed back into the chair opposite him, "What's wrong?"

Sherlock stared blankly at the unlit cigarette in his hands. John reached forward and snatched the cigarette away from his partner, "Have you been smoking?"

Sherlock didn't answer immediately, his eyes flicked up to John and he stared at him. "Not yet."

"Well don't, you're doing really well. What did Mycroft want?"

Sherlock swallowed and looked at the floor, "He talked about you," he mumbled.

"Me? Why did he need to talk about me?" John frowned.

Sherlock's head snapped up aggressively. "Do you want to get married?"

John looked taken aback. "What? Are you asking me?"

Sherlock said in a rush, "No, I'm not asking you. But that's what Mycroft was talking about. He seems to think that you want to become married, and I told him how that was ridiculous. Yet he was certain that you wanted to get married. He even went as far as to say that the other night when you yelled at me, that that was about how you wanted to get married. I told him how you had never voiced these opinions to me, but he was so sure. Do you want to get married?"

John narrowed his eyes, and his chest began to rise and fall heavily. He leapt out of his chair and turned his back on Sherlock, facing the kitchen. He quickly dialled the number and waited for it to answer.

"Hello, John," Sherlock could hear the conversation on the other end of the phone, all be it slightly muffled.

"You have no right!" roared John. Sherlock inhaled sharply, he had never seen John this angry before.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft said coolly.

"You had no right to talk to him about this!" John yelled down the phone. "What made you think that it was okay to discuss a private matter with Sherlock, about him and me?!"

"Ah, you are talking about the topic of marriage, you see-"

"Yes!" burst out John. "Sherlock and I hadn't discussed this before."

"I felt that I had a right to talk to Sherlock. If you leave him because of your differences, you have no idea how that will effect Sherlock. Lord knows what he may do," snapped back Mycroft. Sherlock could detect the growing anger in his voice.

"Just because I want to get married and Sherlock doesn't, does _not_ mean that I will be leaving him!" thundered John. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"We can't be too sure. If you were to leave my brother, he may resort back to substance abuse again, or worse. I assure you I had your best interests at heart," Mycroft said calmer.

"Do you know what? FUCK OFF, MYCROFT!" John bellowed, ending the call and throwing his phone into the kitchen, where it hit the cupboard and fell to a broken mess on the ground.

John reached into his pocket where he had stored the unlit cigarette, he took it out and lit it using the lighter he kept in one of the drawers. The fuming man took a deep drag from the cigarette and exhaled, blowing smoke about the kitchen.

Sherlock, who hadn't uttered a word, raised his eyebrows at John; he had never seen him smoke before. Finally, after several minutes of painful silence, he spoke. "I didn't realise that you smoked."

John continued to pace about the kitchen, "When I'm stressed. I started when I was in Afghanistan, but stopped once I had returned," he replied without looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, he didn't know what to say. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not bloody okay! Your bloody brother stuck his bloody nose into my, our, private business!" John threw the finished cigarette out of the window, and stomped into the living room. He reached under a plant pot and removed the stash of cigarettes that he hid from Sherlock. He lit another and shoved the packet into his pocket for later. He clambered onto the table in front of the book shelf, and pulled out several of the books, throwing them onto the floor. Sherlock leapt off his chair and stood back from the flying literature, watching John curiously. John had the cigarette clamped between his teeth, as he was using his two hands to yank out a small item. Sherlock then realised that it was the security camera Mycroft had installed. John pulled it out, and threw the broken camera onto the floor. He jumped down from the table and turned to Sherlock. "Where are the others?" he demanded.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. John scowled and stormed out of the room and down the stairs. "Where are you going?" Sherlock yelled after him.

"I'm going to the pub with Greg!"

"But you've got work!" yelled Sherlock.

"Screw work!" yelled back John, slamming the door to 221.

Sherlock jumped over to pick up his phone, sending a text to Lestrade.

_Please look after John for me._

_-SH._


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock's eyes opened immediately, as soon as he heard the creak of the door opening. He listened as the stairs groaned under the weight of the two men struggling up the stairs.

"Nah, I don't want to," slurred a man.

"Come on mate, I'm sure it'll be fine."

"No, take me back Lestrade," John slurred.

The two men came through the doorway and into view of Sherlock. Sherlock placed his violin down as he stood up off his chair, and quickly walked to help Lestrade, who was supporting the weight of an intoxicated John under his arm.

"He's fine, Sherlock. I got your text so I went to meet him, he's fine." Lestrade navigated John down the hall and into the open bedroom, gently easing him onto the bed. "I'll let you take it from here…" he said rather awkwardly.

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said to his friend. "Thank you for looking after him."

"It's okay. But whatever is going on between the two of you, you need to get it sorted," Lestrade patted Sherlock on his back and left the room.

Sherlock shut the bedroom door softly and turned to face John, who was sprawled on the bed. He was waving his arms in an attempt to sit himself up, groaning at the difficulty of manoeuvring his limbs.

"John, it's me," Sherlock edged his way closer to the bed and perched onto the corner. "Are you okay?"

"Go away, Sherlock." John collapsed into the pillow and sighed miserably.

"John, I'm sorry. We need to talk about this, okay? Later."

John's only reply was the sound of soft snoring, muffled by the plush pillow. Sherlock sighed pityingly and swung John's legs onto the bed properly. He slipped off his shoes, and pulled the duvet from underneath John, placing it over him and tucking him in. He leant down and kissed John on his forehead, before leaving the room with the door open. Sherlock sat back down into his seat and picked up the violin, pulling the bow across the strings, and a symphony of sad notes began.

* * *

John stumbled out of the room and down the hall, clutching at the walls to steady himself. He ran his hands across his face and grumbled, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. Sherlock watched his partner's every move silently, the dull light provided concealment for him, he hid in the shadows. John, of course, knew that Sherlock was in the living room, as he wasn't in the bed when John woke up. John collapsed onto the chair and sighed, sipping from his water.

"What time is it?" he croaked out.

"Five fifteen," whispered back.

John groaned and sank into the plush cushion, "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Sherlock replied.

"The phone call, going down to the pub… not much else."

"You got drunk; I texted Lestrade to look after you and he did so, bringing you back once you had become too intoxicated."

John nodded, and then pulled a face at the pain moving his head had brought him. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," Sherlock said instantly. "….You have no need to apologise."

"No. I'm sorry that I didn't discuss this with you, we should have talked about it before."

Sherlock nodded his head and steepled his hands, staring at John with concern. "So."

"So."

"You… want to…"

"Be married," John finished. "Yes, one day I would like to be married and maybe even have a family."

Sherlock inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes whilst he thought. "How long have you wanted this?"

"Since I fell in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you," John explained.

"And you can, we will. But I don't see how a wedding will change that. We would still be the same people that we are now; a wedding wouldn't affect the relationship in any way."

"Why don't you want to get married?" Sherlock opened his mouth but John cut in, "And don't blurt out figures and statistics at me."

Sherlock closed his mouth, and then opened it again. "I don't see how marriage is important. We would partake in a ceremony, sign a piece of paper to legalise the ceremony, have a party, and then leave for a short holiday. Only to return several days later and settle back down into the same life. Surely you see what a ludicrous idea it is?"

"Not to me. To me, marriage is where you can declare to the world that you are in love."

"Do you honestly need a ring to do that?" Sherlock asked.

"It's not about the ring," John replied.

The two were silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the quiet tick of the clock in the room. Both of them stared at each other, waiting for the other to break the uncomfortable silence.

"So," John said.

"So."

"What are we going to do?"

"Do you ever think that you can be with someone without being married?" Sherlock whispered, afraid of the answer.

"I don't know."

"…Is this it then? Are we just finished?"

"I don't know," whispered John.

**Thank you to everyone who was read it so far, please review and let me know what you think! Mrs H x**


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